


It Happened in Toulon

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Series: Web Series AU [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Javert POV, backstory fic, stars symbolism? in my fic? it's more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 08:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17680382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: A day in the life of Javert.This is the accompanying piece toEpisode 41of theMysteries of 24601 Web Series AU. This will mostly make sense if read by itself, but it will make more sense and be more satisfying to read within the context of the series.Warnings:prison mention, discussion of domestic unrest (no violence), divorce





	It Happened in Toulon

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait), best beta-reader in the world (that I know of). You should read her stuff, too.

Javert wakes to his alarm at exactly 05:30. He heaves a sigh before sitting upright, mentally running through his daily routine before pushing aside his covers and getting out of his bed. He makes up his bed as quickly as he sullied it before pulling on his running clothes and bracing himself for the chill of the still-dark morning. 

With his mp3 player securely attached to his upper arm and his earbuds in place, he begins a steady power walk to the starting point for his run. The opening beat is already calling for him to pick up pace by Pavlovian response, but he holds steady until he’s at the cathedral.

His muscles thank him once he finally begins jogging, the motion like sliding on a well-fitted glove. The city is still dark, and he admires the light that reflects from the bridge’s streetlamps in the water as he crosses. The music pounds in his ears, and he makes no effort to keep his steps in-time with it.

It’s too early for the garden to be open, so he runs along the outside of it. It’s all right: only the barest waning crescent shines high in the sky right now, and the light pollution keeps the stars at bay. He tries to remember a time in his life where he was able to see the stars.

Right: when he had first gotten started. 

Javert is in the main neighborhood now, streets narrow and crowded with shops. He doesn’t see any stragglers from the previous night’s activities today, but the city is beginning to awaken, sweeping their shop fronts and setting up their stands. The heady smell of fresh bread encircles Javert, and he lies to himself once more that he’ll stop by before work. Maybe he’ll take Camille after her classes finish.

Toulon had been small, containing a pittance of a populace aside from the people working in or with the prison. Javert’s precinct worked closely alongside them: he had known most of the employees by name and could even recognize many of the prisoners. Farms and fields surrounded the town on all sides, and above? The stars, reaching far as the eye could see.

He hangs a right down another narrow street that before long opens up. The playout to the song fades, only to begin afresh as it restarts.

He had met Adrienne in Toulon. She was a good woman: clever, practical, upright. She entertained his amateur astronomy interests and even supported the hobby after they were wed. Pregnancy made her sentimental, but it was no matter: Camille’s birth might have had a similar effect on him if it weren’t for the escapee. 

_Valjean_ , he seethes internally. His hands, which have been curled loosely, now clench into fists. Without slowing his pace he shakes them out, evening his breathing despite the thumping in his head. He turns right again, narrowly avoiding a problematic cobblestone.

It should have been simple: meet at the predetermined location, confirm that he was not engaged in further illicit activities, continue on their ways. Javert had shown up, Valjean had not. If he had, perhaps Javert would have been available to rush to the hospital for Camille’s birth rather than scouring the town for any sign of the convict.

Javert turns left, slowing his pace to practice the breathing techniques the therapist had recommended. She hadn’t saved their marriage, but she had provided methods to help him compartmentalize, and that was almost worth all of the hours wasted in the tense little office.

Javert had known the marriage was finished long before the court-mandated effort to save it. Following the convict’s escape (the therapist had told him to change that mentality--‘the convict’s escape,’ rather than his daughter’s birth) they had moved to some town whose name he couldn’t even remember. He could feel Adrienne’s silent irritation--when he would come home late from work day after day with his mind clearly elsewhere, when he missed Camille’s birthday three years in a row as well as every one of their anniversaries. The time he still devoted to the stars was limited, inhibited by pollution and his own preoccupation with the case.

He makes another left, training his focus on the abbey at the end of the street. The song skips, but it doesn’t trip him up the way it used to.

Despite her initial worries, Montreuil-sur-Mer had vastly exceeded Adrienne’s expectations: the town was well-run, and the factories meant that there were many families for Camille and Adrienne to socialize among. It was quieter, too: reduced crime meant that Javert had had more time at home. The stars were only visible on very particular nights, and Adrienne told him he was wasting his time many nights he searched, but sometimes she would join him and point out the few constellations she remembered, wrapping arms around him to keep him warm when he’d forgotten how cold the night was. He was safer on his rounds there than he ever had been at the previous town. The car crash that had occurred should have been the biggest news that year.

An intersection forces him to stop, jogging in place as he checks for bikes and scooters before crossing.

It should have been, but it wasn’t. The therapist said that this event should be marked to him as a major crossroads in his relationship, rather than his recovery of the ex-convict Jean Valjean. Adrienne, for her part, disagreed with the therapist on that point as well: to her, it was just the catalyst to what she liked to call ‘the downward spiral of his sanity.’ The therapist had called that ‘an unproductive line of thinking.’

He picks up his pace as he turns into the gardens. These gardens are open all hours, and he appreciates the slight incline.

With so much new information and a fresh lead, Javert began spending less time at home once more, letting things like Camille’s school events and dinners with other families fall to the wayside. Adrienne hadn’t made being at home much more pleasant: when he was there, it was a constant alternation of mutterings bitten out of the corner of her mouth and bitter silence.

His breathing is coming slightly harder now, and he turns up the volume on his headphones to rejuvenate himself. He sees his left coming up and takes it, making his way to the park’s exit.

The therapist didn’t realize that his marriage’s fate had been sealed on a cold December day in 2003, one year after the convict’s reveal. Javert had been at a rare family dinner and overheard a dispatch to a familiar-sounding town regarding a kidnapping. Camille, nine at the time, had been sent to a friend’s house without explanation as Adrienne glared at him, a glare he ignored as he stood to collect his things. First there had been the command: _don’t go_. Then the plea: _think of our family_. Finally, the threat: _if you go, don't bother coming back_. It had given him a moment’s pause, but he continued nonetheless. Sure enough, on his return the locks were changed, and soon after the divorce papers were served.

He turns left. The French Senate is lit up beautifully despite the first beams of morning light painting the edges of the skyline. Javert should be able to make it back to the cathedral before the day heats up if he keeps up the pace.

The paperwork and therapist really were just for show after that. He’d been surprised at the time to be granted unsupervised weekend visitation, but in the years and transfers to follow Camille has become a blessing in his life, an anchor when he wavers. 

He’s nearly at his favorite part of the run, and as he pauses at the crosswalk for traffic he admires it.

Camille’s university. Knowing that she’s grown into such an intelligent, strong-minded woman and been shaped at this institution fills him with an odd pride. But moreover, he hasn’t missed it yet: from just the right angle, he can still make out faint pinprick of stars.

 

\---

 

His run ends uneventfully, and his coffee is hot and waiting once he’s out of the shower and dressed. He checks his flip-phone: not enough time to stop by the bakery before his shift. He has texts from Camille from the night before, though.

 

[00:30] **Camille:** DAD DAD DAD  
[00.31] **Camille:** NEWEST EP OF 24601 IS UP AND  
[00.31] **Camille:** DAD SHE GOES TO MY UNI  
[00.31] **Camille:** [1/2] AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA  
[00.31] **Camille:** [2/2] AAAAA  


 

He smiles. The web series doesn’t hold much interest to him, but Camille likes it, so he keeps up with it to have something in common to discuss. He looks at the time again. He does have enough time to watch an episode over coffee and a bagel and get to the precinct on time.

As the computer starts up, he responds.

 

[06.45] **You:** I will pick you up today after work.

 

By the time he’s pecked the words from the dialpad, Youtube is open. Mysteries is the only channel he’s subscribed to, and sure enough the little notification symbol is pinged. He clicks it, waiting for it to load, and despite the warning is still surprised to see it in such a familiar location.

He’s met with Camille countless times in the university’s library, and there it is behind his daughter’s favorite internet celebrity and some freckled booby of a boy. He listens nevertheless: he and Camille have made it their side-project on weekends to do their own investigation surrounding the Youtuber’s father. She has to know they’re chasing shadows and ghosts, but she also politely doesn’t point that out about his own professional side project. In any case, he cherishes that time they spend following dead ends and cold trails.

Something in the video catches his eye. There, right behind the boy, on the circulation desk: a logo the host missed clearly declaring the location of her university.

Anyone who knows the area would know this university, but anyone who might want to do her harm could track her from anywhere in the world with this information.

He fumbles through the features, trying to find a way to private-message the channel. Through a long series of misclicks he finally located the button, picking out his message to inform her of her mistake.

 

 **CamillesDad71:** Hello. I observed at approximately 2:34 in your latest video that your university’s logo is not censored. Take care.

 

He sips the last of his coffee as the desktop computer shuts down. The clock tells him that it’s nearly seven. He washes his dishes, leaving them on the drying rack, and heads out the door for work.

 

\---

 

“Mom’s telling people you’re gay again.”

His attention is on the sideview mirror as he turns. “She can do what she wants, she’s your mother.”

“Do you think you’ll start dating again?”

He doesn’t need much time to consider it. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t met anyone I’m interested in dating.”

He doesn’t need to look over to know Camille has looked up from her phone to make a face at him. “You’re not exactly helping your case here.”

He sighs, exiting the roundabout and sneaking a glance at his daughter as he checks his mirrors. “I don’t have to defend myself against baseless accusations.”

Camille shrugs dismissively in that way he sees all youth shrugging these days. “Whatever.”

The car ride passes in silence, and Javert wonders if he should be making more of an effort to talk.

“I saw the new Mysteries video this morning,” he attempts.

“Before or after it was taken down?”

Taken down? “I don’t know. When was it taken down?”

“Pretty early. Seven thirty-ish?”

“Before, then. I watched it right after texting you.”

“I wonder what she changed.”

Javert doesn’t respond as he pulls into the driveway. There are few enough groceries that Camille allows him to send her into the house ahead of him--though he notes that she happens to go slowly enough to still have the door open as he passes through.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” she says, not looking away from the phone screen.

He hears her start up his computer as he pours the canned soup into a pot to heat. It’s nearly simmering when he hears Camille call.

“Dad, you have a message on Youtube!”

He wipes his hands on the tea towel before approaching the room Camille has shut herself off in.

“I didn’t look at it. Table set yet?” she asks, disappearing before Javert can answer.

True to her word, Youtube is still on its opening screen, and a notification appears on an icon it’s never existed on before. He clicks it and opens the one conversation available.

 

 **CamillesDad71:** Hello. I observed at approximately 2:34 in your latest video that your university’s logo is not censored. Take care.  
**MysteriesOf24601:** Thank you so much!!!!!!! I’ve reuploaded the video with the change. Have a wonderful day!!!!

 

Javert stares at the message blankly. Should he tell Camille that he’s the reason that the video’s was down, tell her the reason?

“Camille,” he calls.

“Yeah Dad?”

He hesitates before speaking. “Dinner won’t be done for several more minutes. Let’s see if we can find the change in that new episode.”

**Author's Note:**

> Javert listens to [Eye of the Tiger](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEjgPh4SEmU) on repeat for his morning runs on a dinky iPod shuffle in this our Lord's year of 2015, change my mind. [This](http://www.joggingroutes.org/2012/08/paris-left-bank-running-route.html) is the route he took that I absolutely did not want to research but did anyway because it actually made things slightly easier.
> 
> This is my first time ever writing Javert and incidentally also the first side-piece I knew I wanted to write. I really wanted Javert to be a clueless viewer at home, sort of a hobby detective on top of his normal detective-ing. Originally it was literally just supposed to be him watching the video over coffee, noticing the logo, and telling Cosette--a sort of crossing of lives--but then the idea of him having his own daughter near Cosette's age caught me, and I just couldn't _not_.
> 
> Next episode is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17561900/chapters/41820647#workskin)!
> 
> How did I do writing him? Any thoughts, theories, questions, or insight about his background? (Because lemme tell you, "tip of the iceberg only" was at the forefront of my mind the entire time.) Tell/ask me below and/or at my [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com)!


End file.
